


The Unseen Hand

by Bound_in_reason



Series: Puppet Master Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brother/Brother Incest, Explicit Language, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Crush, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bound_in_reason/pseuds/Bound_in_reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John makes a move on an unsuspecting Sherlock, the Consulting Detective has to get creative on how to get out of a very awkward conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unseen Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing related to the ACD or BBC Sherlock series or characters. I not profit from my ramblings.
> 
>  Thanks to **M** for doing a quick Beta for me. Any other suggestions welcome.
> 
> **Please heed the tags on this work! Sibling Incest.**

The underground car park was, thankfully, poorly lit. Sherlock pushed back flat against the side of a hideous candy pink Jeep, while John crouched down at the bumper. Both quiet and calming their breathing from the stakeout that had turned into a chase after them. Hearing a shot, John and Sherlock instinctively ducked. They both scrambled to the nearest concrete column, shielded as another bullet flew past.

"Lift!" Sherlock's head quirked towards it. John nodded, body tense, ready to spring into action.

Sherlock darted across the few meters to press the call button, jabbing it with his gloved fingers. John tentatively looked around the pillar, faithful gun held at the ready. He heard fast footsteps approaching, as the lift door slide open. John backed up quickly, while Sherlock whirled inside pressing the ground floor button. With the doors closing, Sherlock yelled to John, who finally turned around and threw himself in as the doors shut to the sound of more bullets.

Having safely landed inside, John found himself cushioned on the floor, legs and arms in a jumbled mess on top of a surprised looking Consulting Detective. They both huffed a sigh of relief. The lift began to move, and they smirked at once again finding themselves in another wildly ridiculous situation.

John found his focus settle on the way Sherlock's face wrinkled into a true, heartwarming smile, and how this extended to the crinkle on his nose, and at the edges of his eyes. John could not help widening his own smile and, without a thought in his head, dipped down and pressed his lips firmly against Sherlock's cupid's bow.

Sherlock's breath hitched and his arms flung out like a startled baby from sleep. Underneath John's weight Sherlock stilled, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised high into his curls. His eyes darted about, and John regrettably realised that the kiss was entirely one sided. Clearly the detective was uncomfortable, even perhaps slightly panicked. John withdrew his lips and blushed deeply. Raising to his feet carefully, avoiding putting weight anywhere inappropriate, John held out his hand hauling Sherlock up to.

The metal doors opened announcing the ground floor. The noise of a populated foyer hit them as they stepped out, rolling their shoulders and adjusting their clothes. John surreptitiously tucked his gun under his jacket into the small of his back.

Sherlock’s eyes flitted around never settling on John. John shoulders hunched. He felt like a proper Twat. Sherlock took out his phone and proceeded to type in his usual frantic manner, while he strode through the crowd of office workers, towards the revolving doors. John followed behind, desperately trying to conjure up a reasonable excuse in his head. He realised a quick apology would be an awkward but necessary evil, and better if got out the way a.s.a.p. John stopped alongside Sherlock at the curb, turned towards him and looked up at the Detective, who still had his focus sternly fixed upon his Blackberry. John lips parted. He hesitate, rubbing his palm on the back of his neck, then went to try again. Sherlock spoke first.

"Lestrade's on his way. Wants a statement, so you'll need to stay here." Sherlock flung up his hand and a Black Cab swerved over and halted beside them.

"But!"

"See you back at the flat?"

Sherlock placed his hand on the cab door, but turned his face to John, making eye contact for the first time since The Lift. He waited and John realised an acknowledgment was required and nodded dumbly. His face contorted uncontrollably in a confused/annoyed/embarrassed fusion. Sherlock nodded back, hopped inside, leaving John to settle on an emotion, while the cab pulled away into midday traffic.

***

Sherlock brought his phone up to his ear, listening to the ring tone. The vehicle made its way along the busy street at a crawl.

“Come on! Pick up!” He glared at his phone, when it rang through to voicemail.

"I'm sure you're aware that..." Sherlock huffed and slumped into the leather. "You let it go to voicemail on purpose. Fine. I'm on my way. We can..." He growled low in his throat and hung up, stuffing his phone violently into his pocket.

When the cab sat at a red light, Sherlock brought his middle finger up to his mouth and chewed on the nail bed. He shifted in his seat unconsciously leaning forward as if urging it to start moving once more. He felt his gut clench when the cab finally pulled up at the familiar foreboding architecture of the Diognese Club. Sherlock climbed out into the street, straightened his clothes, turned and threw a note at the driver and without bothering with change, marched over to the large oak door. He rang the silent bell and waited, knowing full well that consequences were contained within.

***

John sat, cold tea in hand, coat still on, at the cluttered kitchen table. His eyes were glazed over and his eyebrows creased in frustrated thought. _What was that all about? Really, what? Idiot!_ Of course, John knew full well what was going on. He was not completely ignorant of his feelings, but he had thought he had more self control. The pair had been in similar situations before, and he had always kept his hands and mouth to himself.

It was not his loss of control, however, that bothered John most of all, but Sherlock’s reaction. He supposed it was bound to have happened at some point, and he had imagined a range of outcomes, but none that resembled the totally passive body under his, and the quiet panic in Sherlock’s eyes. John had suspected that his advances might be met with cool reserve and a polite decline, but Sherlock’s response had almost been fearful. Sherlock's quick exit only supported John’s horrified realisation that he had been very mistaken in his hopes that Sherlock might reciprocate his feelings.

***

It was dark by the time John heard Sherlock plod up the stairs to their flat. He turned his head in his seated position, in his usual chair, to see a fatigued Sherlock shuffle through the doorway.

"You're back."

Sherlock merely nodded, hanging up his coat and kicking off his shoes.

"I had expected you to be here when I got back from The Yard. I was there three hours. Bloody forms." Sherlock refrained from commenting, rubbing his wrists as he walked into the kitchen. "Greg still wants your statement though. You know how he gets when bullets are involved." John threw a grin at Sherlock, but he was preoccupied with the kettle. "Anyway, he requests your prompt attendance tomorrow morning."

"Fine."

John sat up in his chair with astonishment and stared at Sherlock, looking for the eye roll, but none came. Sherlock stirred his drink and came back to the sitting room. He slumped into the sofa with a uncharacteristic sigh and drew his legs up and crossed them. He laced the fingers of both hands around the cup and brought the hot liquid up to his lips, but did not drink. Sherlock's gaze was far off. John watched him and registered the fact that Sherlock looked quite lost. Not in thought, which was entirely normal, but actually blank. No one was home. Sherlock sat in this pose for fifteen minutes, the hot clay mug cooling against his lips, until John could not hold back his desire to talk any longer.

“Earlier. In the lift... I.” John paused at length.

“Think nothing of it John.” Sherlock waved it away with one hand. He sat up, putting his feet to the floor, but refrained from looking at John, instead opting to gaze at the coffee table. “I am somewhat focused on other matters.” His eyes shifted to the window and sipped at his cold Tea.

John’s sharp intake of breath threatened to become a huff but he suppressed it. Sherlock looked up at John, who was sat stiffly in his chair rubbing his thighs as though trying to remove a crease from his trouser leg. Sherlock placed his mug on the coffee table, leaned forward, placing his forearms along his thighs and cradled his wrists in his large hands.

“John. I am not dismissing the subject completely, merely deferring it to a later date."

Feeling this enough explanation, Sherlock rose taking his cup and moved towards the kitchen. John’s eyes followed him and as he passed John’s chair Sherlock patted a hand on John’s shoulder. The action caused Sherlock's shirt cuff to ride up an inch, revealing a ring of purple and blue. John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him closer, swinging around in his chair to gain a closer look and inspect the damage.

“Did this happen earlier?" John drew back the silk. It revealed a further, deeper bruise, where a thumb would have been. He went to take up the other wrist, but Sherlock stepped back, straightening his cuff.

“It doesn't require medical attention John.” Sherlock continued his path to the kitchen, placing his cup into the sink.

"But who?.." John stood to follow, but Sherlock snapped his head round and gave a look that kept the Doctor in his place.

“It's not important. Just.. No more...” He waved his hand in a circular motion, gesturing towards John.

“Alright. But we will talk?"

“Yes. Yes. Another time.” At that, he stalked off to his room and closed the door.

***

Sherlock undressed and put on his grey jersey pyjama bottoms and blue silk robe. He sat on the matress and shuffled back inhaling quickly when the pain in his wrists flared up. When settled, up against the pillows and headboard he pulled back the sleeves of the silk robe and inspected the flowering purple patterns on his pale skin. He smiled, rubbing them gently, thinking how they came to be.

***

His brothers initial nonchalant attitude, as Sherlock was ushered into the private office, lasted only moments. Once the door closed with a click, Mycroft, who was cooly composed at his desk, erupted from his chair and with dark eyes, charged at Sherlock and pinned him quite firmly against the dark wood door. His wrists held tight at the sides of his head, while he was claimed quite passionately.

"My!" Sherlock melted, all tension leaving him as his brothers tongue delved into his mouth. Sherlock moved to release his hands, but was answered with them being knocked back against the door once more with Mycroft's grip doubling.

“You, little brother. Are. Mine." Mycroft punctuated this with bites down the white expanse that was Sherlock's neck. Breathless, Sherlock tilted his head further encouraging the barrage of teeth and tongue.

“John caught me off guard.” Sherlock gasped, teeth sinking into his collarbone through fabric. “Oh God!” Sherlock pushed his hips forward, causing him to slip lower, now almost hanging by his wrists, while his captor loomed over him. Mycroft breathed heavily into the crook of his neck, breathing him in deeply. His movements seemed to still and he placed more gentle open mouthed kisses along Shelock's neck to his jaw. Sherlock turned his head and, in a shattered voice, whispered into his lovers ear. “Only you My.” Sherlock juddered forward when a strong thigh pressed into his groin. “Mmm..." His voice rumbled and deepened. "You know I'm not interested in the Doctor.”

“Yes.” Mycroft's voice tickled Sherlock's now pink neck. Grey blue eyes raised up to face Sherlock and creased at the corners as a smile played on deep red, swollen lips. Mycroft released his grip and laced his fingers in Sherlock's and squeezed reassuringly. “But I can be rather unreasonable when it comes to you.”

Sherlock simply smiled, and tipped his head forward, closing his eyes as their lips caressed in a slow indulgent kiss.

***

Sherlock licked his lips, remembering the taste. He realised he was hard under his robe. Sherlock ground his palm down on the hard flesh and groaned under his breath. He really needed to decided how he could best proceed with the awkward situation that he was now faced with. He wanted to continue living and working with John. The Doctor tolerated his eccentricities, as no one ever had, and helped him in his work in a way that Sherlock himself did not entirely understand. Sherlock considered John his friend, a close friend, and wanted to keep him that way.

If things had been different, maybe Sherlock may have become involved with John, but Sherlock did not regret the decision he had made on his seventeenth birthday. It was this potential that Mycroft had raged against and would barely tolerate if unresolved. Sherlock needed to think. He stroked himself through the soft fabric and sighed. At least he could resolve this problem. He gathered his phone from his bedside table and pressed the speed dial.

“Hello.” Sherlock’s voice was silk. “I wondered if you’d help me? I have a little problem.”

Next door, in the adjoining bathroom, John stilled his hand holding the tooth brush. He could hear the deep baritones through the glazed door.

“Ha!" Sherlock chuckled softly. "Not THAT little problem." Sherlock shuffled lower on the bed, shifting his hips to ease down his bottoms. “No, I haven’t talked to him yet." Sherlocks cock bobbed as it was released from its confines. "I was more interested in our unfinished business. You are quite... enthralling when you’re feeling possessive.” Sherlock held himself firmly in his long fingers. “I can’t get you out of my head tonight. You just left me in that state and insisted I toddle off and sort... things."

John drew closer to the door, toothbrush still in his mouth, straining to catch the voice on the phone, but was unable to make out anything other than a masculine tone of voice.

“True, but I had ideas about defiling that desk of yours again. You know how I like it My... My Darling."

John almost splat out his toothpaste over the door and quickly removed the brush. He spat quietly into the sink, then returned to the door. Sherlock's voice grew deeper, when he rubbed the bead of fluid over the glans with his thumb and he arched into it.

"Um, yes. That's, that's it exactly." Sherlock twisted his wrist, as he stroked down over the head. He hissed at the sensation spiking, not only in his cock, but also in his bruised wrist. "Quite so. That's how I want it."

John blushed at the image of Sherlock bent over, vulnerable like that. He had always imagined Sherlock as a Top. Sherlock hummed loudly then gasped.

“Really. Oh, but that’s a much better idea. I want you here touching me. I’m so hard.”

John began to feel more uneasy, at his intrusion into this private conversation, and went to back away. He had already crossed a unwelcome line today. Listening in on his flatmate having phone sex with his secret boyfriend was a step beyond 'Not good.'

“Fuck!" Sherlock's bucked up into his fist, fucking it roughly and in an increasingly uncoordinated rhythm. John was surprised to hear the profanity. "I’m yours. Only You.” Sherlock pumped furiously, his body writhing into the sheets. “Only you... Fuck..." Sherlock stilled, holding his breath and arched up off the mattress. He groaned as he ejaculated in pulses over his hand and onto his chest. Sherlock slumped back against the bed, relaxing immediately. "Mmm... Perfect." Sherlock smirked, glancing over towards the bathroom.

The last words John heard as he tiptoed out, red faced and hard, were a breathless. “I love you to.”

***

What John did not hear - Sherlock and Mycroft's phone sex transcript.

Shelock: "Hello.”

Mycroft: "Hello, Baby mine."

Sherlock: “I wondered if you’d help me? I have a little problem.”

Mycroft: "Oh dear. Did John not take it well."

Sherlock: “Ha! Not THAT little problem."

Mycroft: "Oh?"

Sherlock: “No. I haven’t talked to him yet."

Mycroft: "Putting it off?"

Sherlock: "I was more interested in our unfinished business. You are quite... enthralling when you’re feeling possessive.”

Mycroft: "I had gathered, from the damp patch on your trousers."

Sherlock: “I can’t get you out of my head tonight. You just left me, in that state, and insisted I toddle off and sort... things.”

Mycroft: Think of it as incentive to get the job done expediently.

Sherlock: “True, but I had ideas about defiling that desk of yours again. You know how I like it My... My Darling."

Mycroft: "Darling? Ah! Of course. Very clever Baby. John can hear you."

Sherlock: "Um, yes. That's, that's it exactly."

Mycroft: "And will soon understand in no uncertain terms that you are... unavailable. How inventive and terribly cowardly.

Sherlock: "Quite so. That's how I want it."

Mycroft: "Is it really? Now I would much rather come round and staked my claim with you bent over the kitchen table."

Sherlock: “Really. Oh, but that’s a much better idea. I want you here touching me. I’m so hard.”

Mycroft: "I'd much rather be with you to. It's a shame you haven't a free hand to finger yourself with. Imagining my hard cock pounding into your naked body, limp and draped over the kitchen table like a puppet with no strings, as our audience watches the show."

Sherlock: "Fuck!"

Mycroft: "Do you think he'd stay to watch the climax? I'd mark you Sherlock. Show him who you belong to, have always belonged to.

Sherlock: "I’m yours. Only You.”

Mycroft: "Mine. Always."

Sherlock: “Only you."

Mycroft: "Come for me."

Sherlock: "Fuck..."

Mycroft: "Did he stay for it all? Do you think it worked?"

Sherlock: "Mmm... Perfect."

Mycroft: "How awfully perverted our Doctor is. Well now. I am delighted I could assist you in your hour of need brother mine. Always Baby. Good night.

Sherlock: “I love you to. Good night."


End file.
